


Lucy

by ShinMeiko



Series: Secondary characters have substance too [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinMeiko/pseuds/ShinMeiko
Summary: Series of moments from Lucy's life, especially her relationship with Garrett.
Series: Secondary characters have substance too [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592485
Comments: 22
Kudos: 28





	1. Meet cute

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Life is a series of first times that I can't wait to share with you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737509) by [ShinMeiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinMeiko/pseuds/ShinMeiko). 



> What do you mean 'I should finish other unfinished projects before starting new ones'?

I must admit that I am quite happy to be back. I know things will get better, but at this stage, family reunions are still difficult. For all of us. Three weeks back in my childhood home tired me more than a full term of college.

But I am back, I am unpacked, I have already gotten my schedule for the first week of class, and I am meeting Grace and Sofia in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I decided to treat myself to some coffee and a pastry. More than coffee. I just treated myself to the most decadent latte ever. But after the last few days, I need it. I deserve it.

I think I am going to go enjoy it in the park. It’s a sunny day and it’s the part of the city I missed the most.

So I leave the café, looking forward to my latte, my pastry (I’ll go for a run tomorrow) and finishing the book in my bag. I must be in my thoughts because I bump into someone as soon as I pass the door. The latte doesn’t spill on any of us, but is now all over the sidewalk.

“Oh, my God, I am so terribly sorry, I didn’t see you, and…” I don’t know why but I am really upset about this. I know it’s not about this, it’s about all the feelings I had to keep inside the past few weeks threatening to let loose, and I know that if that man starts shouting at me, I might just burst into tears, and that would just make the whole thing even worse… Please, please, please, just don’t start yelling…

But he doesn’t. He even looks at me with a sorry smile. “I didn’t see you either, so I’m to blame too. And I’m fine, whereas your coffee is ruined…”

“Yes, I…” I take a deep breath. I am not going to cry over coffee in front of a stranger. A very cute stranger. I put on my best fake smile, the one I practiced so often before. “It’s fine. It’s just coffee.”

“It’s still annoying. I’m pretty sure you bought that coffee because you wanted it, not because you wanted to make a contribution to the country’s economy…”

My smile gets a bit less fake. He’s funny. “Probably.”

“Come on, let’s go get you a new one. I’m buying.”

Oh. That’s very forward. But it doesn’t feel like he is hitting on me. He just seems genuinely king. “Thank you, but you don’t have to do this. It was my fault.”

“Then you can buy me a cup of coffee to make it up to me.”

His tone clearly says that he would be fine with a no. That he expects it, even. This is exactly why I say: “Sure.”

He looks surprised, but pleasantly so.

“What are you taking?” he asks me as it is nearly our time to order.

I shrug shyly. “Any coffee will do.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No, we can’t have that. What was in that cup?” I recite my order to him, almost embarrassed by how complicated it is. But his tone is amused more than judgemental when he says: “What happened to plain coffee?”

He turns to the barista and repeats my order by the letter. He pays and when comes my turn to order, I realize that I don’t know what he wants. He just looks at me with a quizzical smile and remains silent. I have to guess. I like this impromptu game, but it also stresses me out. So I play it safe and order an Americano. He seems satisfied with it and it’s almost as if I passed the most important test of my life.

We leave the café and I don’t bump into anyone this time.

“Thank you for the coffee,” he tells me.

“Same.”

“You looked really sad about dropping the first one.” Did I? “I get it,” he says. “It was a very long order. You did deserve to enjoy it.”

There is nothing fake about my smile anymore. He is funny, but it’s not just that. It really feels like he is trying to get that smile on my face. He seems to be able to see that all the awkwardness is gone and that was apparently hie goal all along. I can see in his eyes that he is ready to move on now.

“I hope your coffee is worth it. Try to avoid walking into anyone else until you’ve drunk it. I get that it’s New York and it’s hard, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“I’m sure I will.”

There is this weird wavering moment where we both know this was technically goodbye but none of us move. All I can think about is that I like his eyes, I like his smile, I like his hair… he makes me feel safe. It’s crazy. I’ve literally just met the guy. I don’t even know his name. I just want to feel safe a bit longer.

I wonder what he sees in me. Why hasn’t he left yet?

I ignore the fact that meet-cutes don’t exist in real life, I ignore that the massive disadvantage of getting involved with a stranger is that there will be a point when I will have to have that conversation that can – and has before – change everything, I ignore everything that could hold me back and say: “I was about to drink my coffee in the park. I have a few hours to kill. Would you like to join me?”

He looks down at his watch. “Yes, I could do that.”

“I’m Lucy.”

“Garrett.”

We sit on my favorite bench and we talk like we are old friends. There definitely is the thrill of discovering someone new, but there is also something so easy in the way we talk to each other. This boy is kind, interesting, and funny.

Twenty minutes were more than enough to figure out that I like him. That terrifies me. This is not supposed to happen. I was supposed to have more time to figure out my new life and my new self before dating, and in a perfect world, I would have first dated guys who already know about me before having a weird ‘love at first sight’ moment with a stranger. I could be meant-to-be, but it could also be a set up for a massive disaster.

“This coffee was very good,” Garrett comment putting both our cups in the trashcan nearby. “I should go back to that place.”

“You’ve never been? Are you a Starbucks kind of guy?”

“Not really. I just moved in the neighborhood. I was literally going home after returning the moving van.”

“Oh. Are you new to the city?”

“No, but I was living in the dorms.”

“Ah. Have you finished college?”

“No, I’m starting junior year in a few days. At NYU.”

“What are you studying?”

He sighs. “I was studying to become a sports doctor.”

“Was?”

“I’m not sure it’s what I want to do anymore.”

“Is medicine not for you?”

“No, I think it is, but… I’m not sure I have what it takes to go to medical school. Academically, financially… willingly… and I might have chosen sports medicine to combine two things I'm passionate about. But I think I’d be happier if I were doing something more useful, closer to the action. Maybe a paramedic or something. I will definitely finish college as if I were going to medical school, but I just don’t know if I’ll pursue it anymore.” He looks at me and the blue in his eyes is deeper than I remember. “I’ve not told anyone that yet…”

I am genuinely flattered that he opened up to me. Although that might be the stranger effect. Sometimes, it is easier to tell the things that are weighing on us to someone we don’t know. Or it might be something else. The way he looks at me is a bit overwhelming. It makes me want to be stupid and take his hand. Or even lean forward and kiss him.

But that would be opening the door to a lot of complications. So, instead, I lighten the mood. “So you’re interested in sports?”

“I am.” He is really easy to talk to. He gently follows the conversation wherever it takes him, sometimes trying to push some subjects, but never forcing when he feels any resistance. I have the feeling, though, that he wouldn’t be afraid to make me face any truth if we knew each other better. And that he would be skilled at it.

“Any in particular?”

“I play soccer.”

“Are you good?”

“Enough to get a scholarship.”

Oh, wow. I’m not particularly into sports, but even I know that it’s an accomplishment. “Varsity, huh? Impressive. So… you’re a jock, then?”

“I… guess so? Not if you go with the Hollywood cliché that we take steroids, are of limited intelligence, and regularly date-rape girls.”

“I was literally wondering that. But it’s good to know.”

He smiles. “Other than that, I guess I am quite stereotypical. I train a lot. I even have a letterman jacket.” My first thought is that I’d like to wear his jacket. How pathetic is it that I am projecting with a guy I just met? It is so not me. And I am probably not seeing him for who he really is. “But what about you? Are you still in college?”

“I am. I study journalism at Columbia.”

“And you call my scholarship impressive?”I shrug, a bit uncomfortable. “What kind of journalist are you going to be? Investigation? Economy? Press? Tv?”

“I’m not sure yet. There is something I want to do, but it’s a bit foolish.”

“All the best dreams are a bit foolish.”

“I’m majoring in journalism, but I also studied anthropology and sociology. I would love to travel the world and write about different cultures.”

“That sounds great.”

“It’s not like there are a lot of job opportunities in that field.”

“Maybe not. But that’s what dreams are. Something that you have to fight for, see if you have it in you to bend destiny, and make it real.”

“Is that from a fortune cookie?”

He smiles. “No. It’s from someone I can always call when I’m feeling lost.”

“Best friend?”

“No. someone a bit more magic…”

I look at my phone. “Speaking of best friend, I have to go meet mine now. Thank you for staying with me. And sorry again for running into you.”

“It turned out really great.” The tension between us is back and it takes me a lot of self-control to not stare at his lips. He seems to have understood that I am uncomfortable with is and he immediately interrupts the moment. “Besides, I might be better off outside of my apartment right now.”

“Why?”

“My roommate and his boyfriend are there and there is a very good chance they’re having sex.” _‘His boyfriend’_. So he has a gay roommate. It might mean that he is educated about LGBT issues. At least the G.

“Are they having a lot of sex?”

“Yes. No. Sort of.”

“Are you going to list all the possible answers? Because you are missing ‘maybe’, ‘kinda’, I don’t know’…” He rolls his eyes at me but he has a wide, happy smile.

“The thing is… they are having _a lot_ of sex right now. But Simon lives in Chicago so if we do an average per year, then no, they’re not. They’re just catching up, I guess. I’m trying to give them space.”

“For them or for you?”

“Probably both,” he admits.

“So… Gay roommate. Are you… on the rainbow as well?”

He stares at me for a few seconds before saying. “No. I am all about ladies.” The way he looks at me when he says that makes me shiver. I think that he is into me. And I am into him too. Much more than I should after a couple of hours. There is no point in lying to myself about that.

I take a business card that I had made when I was looking for my last internship and hand it to him. It would have been so much easier and more natural to just give him my phone number, but this also seems less forward, and definitely less romantic. It would be much easier to handle rejection like that.

A rejection that, oddly, I dread and hope at the same time. I dread it because this guy seems great, and I want to explore this incredible bond that got created out of the blue. But I hope he will say no anyway because it would simply be easier right now.

“What is that for?” he asks, a bit playful.

“In case you would like to get coffee again someday.”

He smiles. “I still wouldn't call whatever you drank coffee.”

“No, it’s much better.”

“Really? I guess you’ll prove me wrong next time, then.” My heart ridiculously skipped a beat when he said ‘next time’.

As I walk to meet my friends, I find the abandoned pastry in my bag. Garrett made me forget about food. Is this guy magic?

I don’t tell my friends about Garrett. He seems too good to be true and I don’t want to build him up in my head and create myself a massive heartache.


	2. Coffee

This was a terrible idea.

When I received a text from Garrett asking if I wanted to meet for coffee, my fingers replied ‘yes’ before I could even think about it. Then we were making plans, and here I am, waiting for him. He isn’t late, I was early. That’s how eager I was. But that gives me time to nervously think.

Why am I doing this? I am attracted to him, that part is obvious. And not just physically. I am drawn to that warm, happy boy I met. I am anxious about three things. The first one would be to suddenly discover that the magic from our last encounter disappeared and that there is actually nothing special about him. The second is that I would be just as smitten but I would realize that he is not interested. And the third, which might be the worse one, is that today will be just perfect as the day we met. Because then what? I am still in a confusing place in my life and I don’t think that it is the best time ever to date. Assuming that he will still be interested when he knows.

Maybe I should tell him straight away. When none of us is too involved in any of this and it wouldn’t hurt so much if he walks out. Then again, if he is only looking for friendship… then that’s just me oversharing. With a stranger.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice says, pulling me out of my thoughts. His hair is slightly wet and he runs his hand through it to get rid of a few droplets. I glance outside. It’s slightly raining. When did it start to rain?

“You’re not. I was early.”

“You arrived first. I’m late.”

“Oh. Is that the rule?”

He shrugs with a cute half-happy, half-embarrassed smile. “I just don’t like making people wait.”

“I really didn’t.”

“Good. Because I’m going to make you wait another moment.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to get coffee. Let’s see if I can recall your ridiculously complicated order.”

That makes me smile. I couldn’t hide it if I tried. I like that he is so nice, that he is so casually funny, that he remembers details from the day we met, as if he replayed it in his head the way I did. But he might just have a good memory for details.

He still comes back with the perfect coffee. “I didn’t expect you to contact me so soon,” I very truthfully tell him. “Or at all.”

“That had nothing to do with you,” he replies. “I’m just looking for excuses for not being in the apartment right now because I don’t think that my presence is enough to keep my roommate off his boyfriend.” But his eyes are so gentle that all I heard was ‘I’m going to make a joke to diffuse the tension, but I couldn’t wait.’

“Are they that bad?”

“They’re not. They’re cute, actually. But Simon is leaving soon, so I’m giving them their space. To watch Tv, have sex, or, much more likely, stare at each other and lovingly whisper catchphrases about whose love is the deepest.” Again. His tone is teasing but his smile is soft and tender. I think he is happy for them. “What about you? What are you so desperately trying to flee that you said yes to this invitation?”

“Nothing. I wanted to know more about the roommate’s sex-life, really.”

“That makes sense. I didn’t provide nearly enough details last time.”

This ridiculous first exchange rapidly shifts to a more substantial conversation. I tell him about how I fell in love with other cultures and the places I would like to visit the most if I had the opportunity. He is much more knowledgeable than I thought and he is also one of the best listeners I’ve ever met. It doesn’t feel like the kind of listening someone does when they are interested in someone and want to impress them. I think he is just genuinely interested in others.

Then he tells me about why he wants to become a first responder instead of a doctor. How he doesn’t want to spend many more years building up a students debt that he won’t be able to repay for years, maybe decades, how he doesn’t want a job that is probably won’t have a healthy work-life balance, and how he twice had to help people before paramedics could make it to them and that at least once he made the difference between life and death. There is no pride or sense of achievement in his words. Just the certainty that this is what he was supposed to do and that this gave him peace.

I barely know him. He could be anyone, really. But, somehow, I think he is a caring person who would do great in a job where he needs to care for others. I don’t know how good he would be in a crisis, though. I know he mentioned something that happened with his friend’s roommate, but I don’t know what, or I don’t remember, and I don’t want to ask again.

“Okay,” he suddenly says, “but that’s all for the future. What about now?”

“What?”

“Who are you now, Lucy… what’s your last name?”

“Miller.”

“Who is Lucy Miller?”

That is a much more complicated question than he realizes. And it’s not that I don’t want to answer it, it’s that I don’t know the answer myself. ‘Transition’ is a really appropriate name. I know that who I am becoming is just who I am, but… it’s also not who I was, in a way, and this is all confusing. Liberating and amazing, but also painful and confusing. And even if I came out to him as Trans now, I still wouldn’t know how to tell him any of that, or if he’d be ready or willing to hear it. I don’t even know if I want to talk about it.

When people ask – the ones who know – I always say that it’s hard but that it’s been so freeing and that I am finally seeing myself when I look in a mirror, or that I can present my real self to the world… I never say that I’m also afraid, that sometimes I hate that body I don’t recognize anymore, and that there are even days it feels so oppressing that I wish I could go back. Not that the dysphoria was better then. If I cowardly did go back, I know that I’d start the process all over again anyway. Because I never regret it, I just get tired of the process sometimes and wish for an easier life. Then it goes away and I remember that my life didn’t actually use to be easier.

So… yeah… maybe it’s a bit of a heavy answer for a first coffee with a cute stranger.

“I don’t think I have a satisfying answer to that. I’m afraid there isn’t much to me out of my aspirations.”

“Really? You’re not a person yet?”

“I… I guess I am.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“I pour coffee on strangers and see what happens.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

I shrug. “But sometimes it’s great.”

And for a second he seems to struggle to find something to answer and I believe it’s the first time. But he bounces back and we start talking about favorite film, best concert, preferred actor… it’s all small talk, things you can discuss with someone you don’t know well when you’re not at the stage where you truly get to know each other yet but you also want to keep the conversation going.

And that’s the main thing. I can’t tell him about me because I’m not ready to share that much about me, but I also don’t want the conversation to stop. I want him to keep being interested in me, I want him to keep making me laugh, I want him to like me.

Oh, God, why am I doing this to myself? I am not at a point in my life where I am ready to date.

We get out of the café and it’s time to say goodbye. It’s time to say goodbye, and I am torn about this. I don’t think we’ll see each other again after this. We don’t have any reason to. It’s for the best. Before this charming stranger becomes a crush.

“So… do you want to get coffee again?” he asks me. “I could update you on my roommate’s sex life and you can tell me all about the people you pour coffee on in your free time…”

It’s a charming offer. He keeps it light, noncommittal, and it’s a nice call back to our earlier jokes. But I know nothing good awaits us down that road. “I am super busy at the moment,” I wisely say. Then I stupidly add: “But I am getting coffee here at eight every morning. I could get it at quarter to and have a bit of time to chat. If anyone happened to be there at the same time.”

“That happens to be my favorite time to get coffee poured on me,” he comments.

Part of me wishes he won’t show. But I’ll still be here early every morning, just in case. Because I also can’t wait.


End file.
